


Making Due

by Dontgotone



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cave-In, Choking, M/M, Oral Sex, Trampling, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dontgotone/pseuds/Dontgotone
Summary: Impactor and Swerve are stuck in a cave-in, when the little metallurgist gets some metal eating acid on him.The bad news, he doesn't have anything on hand to get it off.The good(?) news, Impactor's got a full tank of something that will.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MooseKababs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseKababs/gifts).



It was easy. A routine mission. Nothing complicated. Send a miner in to navigate the tunnels, and a metallurgist to determine if there was anything worth salvaging. That the metallurgist hadn't really been in combat before wasn't too much of an issue when the miner was also a Wrecker. Simple things. Simple goals. Barely any risk at all. Swerve couldn't have asked for a more quiet assignment. 

And yet here he was, hyper-venting in a small cavern, barely able to move around in the cramped space between the fallen rocks. The only reason he had any space to move at all was the big bot standing over him, arms wide and holding up a fairly big boulder from crushing them both. Thankfully, the big rock had settled so it was being held by the rest of the rubble from the cave in. Unfortunately, it had done so while pinning Impactor's arms against that rubble, leaving him stuck in a standing position. 

Swerve was on the verge of panic, gripping the strong calves on either side of him. His distress beacon was active, and he was receiving answering pings from the search party, but communications were too garbled to get any words across, and the occasionally shifting ceiling had him curling into a ball underneath the trapped wrecker, praying to Primus. 

Impactor, however, had different plans. He shoved the minibot out from underneath him with a foot, pushing him towards some of the debris. "Go on, then! Start digging, those rocks there look plenty stable, you should be able to pull out the rocks underneath. We're supposed to be near another vein, so if you managed a hole you might be able to jump down and get a faster path to the surface."

Nodding, glad there was someone to take charge and get his mind off of … well, everything, Swerve started tugging at rocks, only moving those that didn't seem to be holding any others up, and tossing them behind him. "You know, I always thought I'd go out by getting crushed." Oh no. Oh no why was he talking? Impactor was so cool! The badass Wrecker! He couldn't help himself, his mouth just kept running. "Although, I always figured I'd go out under a combiner's boot, really. Never would have dreamed it would be in a cave with a fame bot."

Was the wrecker grunting? Laughing? Swerve couldn't really tell, he was too focused on the dumb stuff coming out of his own mouth. He just tugged at a rock, wow it was really lodged in there… That should have warned him, but he was a little preoccupied. And then there was spray of pressurized liquid splashing over his face, making the metallurgist yelp and fall backwards. 

"Hey, what happened! Little guy?"

"I'm good! I just took a rock I shouldn't have… shshhhh…. " 

Come to think of it, his face was starting to feel warm. And real tender. And… oh shit. Crawling back to where the jet had turned into a small puddle, the minicon dipped his finger in, analyzing the weird substance. Oh dear, there it was. "Oh no, oh no, this isn't right." He was crawling backwards again now, frantically looking around even as the burn got worse, steam rising from his affected plating. 

"The hell's wrong?" Impactor asked, but Swerve wasn't listening. 

"Oh god, I can't believe I got myself covered in.. Oh no, I don't have any acidic countermeasures… this is bad, bad bad bad… need… I need…"

He turned towards the confused wrecker, and then down at his crotch panel. Within moments the minicon was clutching the much bigger bot's leg, whimpering from the pain. "Impactor, uh… Sir. Please, don't take this the wrong way, but I … I _need_ your waste fluid. "

Silence.

And then laughter. Loud laughter. The wrecker's body shook hard enough the entire ceiling of their impromptu cavern rumbled, sending dust and bits of rock down… but Swerve wasn't in mood to laugh for once. "You don't understand! This… this thing! It's a highly corrosive base that reacts strongly with cybertronian metal, and doesn't stop once it starts. AND IT'S ALL OVER MY FACE! I can't just rub dirt on it, I need something acidic to chemically change it… and … uh…" 

The mini bot placed a hand over the other's crotch plating, looking up as he felt tears leak from his optics. Desperation? Pain? Shame? All of the above, of course. Swerve was nothing if not a master at multitasking when it came to processing the terrible things in the world. And yet he still almost pulled away when the plating shifted under his hand, exposing… 

"Guiding Hand… you're Big."

Again he heard that rumbling avalanche of laughter, and suddenly the thick python of a spike's tip slid open, a stream so hard coming out and splashing over his face and shoulders that the minibot reflexively used both hands to protect himself from it. He coughed, gagging on the powerful taste of it. The flow abated, and Swerve could still smell it in the air, vents stuttering from the intensity of it. 

"Well? Didn't you say you needed it? I've got quite the tankful, you're lucky." 

Oh primus there was more? 

Wait, no, that was _good_, he could still feel some of the burning on bits of his helm. Nodding, Swerve gripped the thick spike with both hands. Seriously, this thing was about as long as he'd expected, but how did something that thick hide behind that cod plate? His thoughts were drowned out by the strength of the stream again. He directed it against his face, feeling the spike shudder and pulse as more and more of the pungent liquid sprayed against him, soothing the burning from the metal eating substance. He could feel it both get neutralized and get washed away, the stream impressive both in it's acid content and strength. 

Swerve could feel his vents running overtime his whole body heating up as the fluids pushed at his helm, stung his eyes, found it's way past his lips and made him gasp in surprise. The taste was so _strong_ he couldn't help gagging, sputtering when that only made more of the torrent rush into his mouth. There was no question of swallowing or not. The pressure was too high. It shot down his throat like a canon, making his coughing worse. His entire world was that flow, now. The taste, the scent. The feel of the weakening rush as it's gushing slowed, the stream falling over his chest plate and down his hips. 

He felt like he was going to empty his tanks back out of his mouth. 

His spark felt like it was surrounded in thermite and set aglow. 

The big bot's ped shoved at him, almost stepping on him, but he could hear the concern in his voice. 

"You good? You're not going to melt away anymore?"

Vents running at maximum, both to cool down and to savor the scent in the air that at once made him recoil and had his spark shuddering, Swerve looked up, swallowing the last droplets burning his tongue. 

"M-more… Please…"

He was aware of the cool air against his own spike he'd taken out his array at some point, and the pressurized metal felt the hardest he'd ever been. Even the orbs underneath, usually tucked in, felt uncomfortably swollen from the heat inside his frame. He expected laughter. Mockery. Disgust. Of course the wrecker would be disgusted with him, getting so needy from being peed on , begging for more like a back alley syphonist. But maybe he'd want to keep the joke going, laugh at Swerve some more. It would hurt, but he'd get more of what was searing his circuits with desire. 

"Hmm… I think I can manage that… tank's barely half empty. But first, I think you have a job to get to." 

Shocked, the minibot looked up at the wrecker, still marveling at the way his servos flexed and held up the rock ceiling. How he didn't seem to be struggling, even though he was lifting so much. How the thick spike had fully pressurized, lubricant dribbling with the remains of his waste fluid from the tip. He could see how it had chubbed up, pushing the protective mesh back from the very end of it, and before he knew it Swerve was pushing himself between the bigger bot's thighs, both hands on the thick spike and forcing the head into his mouth. 

He dug his glossa in between the soft, sensitive mesh and the spongy tip, inhaling the potent mix of Impactor's tastes, the flavors so strong they nearly knocked him back. The wrecker's breathy groan encouraged him, and the little white autobot stuffed more into his mouth. It filled him, easily stretched his throat to the limit, but even though he was gagging, choking on it now, Swerve refused to back off. He awkwardly swallowed, feeling the cables in his throat ripple along the thick, dripping rod he was forcing down. A quick pass of his hand confirmed it, his throat was bulging out with the shape of Impactor's spike. 

The wrecker was grunting more and more, now, his legs shaking and hips rolling back and forth. The slow movement made Swerve's tanks flip, but it helped him slide the spike a bit out, and then further in until his nose was pressed to the wrecker's plating. He couldn't see a thing, his optics too blurry from the discomfort. His vents hiccuped and stuttered while his throat heave and gagged on the obstruction blocking it, but the little mini bot felt his spark beam with warmth when he heard Impactor swear and start moving his hips faster, rougher.

Swerve's whole body shook with every thrust, the thick pilon pushing farther in than he'd have ever imagined, stretching his throat painfully wide. His optics sparked and fizzled, the taste overwhelming him even past the pain and discomfort. The wrecker's movements got harsher, more brutal. The minicon had to brace himself against the other bot's hips, holding on for dear life while the bigger bot pounded and thrust his hips forward with bruising force. Each pull back had Swerve feeling like the entirety of his tanks was being pulled up with the heavy club pulling out of his throat. Every thrust in had him feel the sparks from the harsh scraping of metal on metal, despite that it was wet, spongy tip against the soft , pliable cables of his throat.

The metallurgist had completely lost track of time by the time he felt the heavy mass inside of him swell further, his mouth straining and threatening to tear , prompting the little bot to start slapping at Impactor's thigh in distress. The ex miner was too far gone, however, a frame wide shudder accompanying his panting and grunting. His shoulders dipped, the whole ceiling shifting and threatening to fall down on them, but he righted himself with a heavy pelvic thrust that drove his spike in deep until Swerve felt plating against his nose. 

Swerve's teeth bit slightly into the soft mesh in his mouth by simple virtue that it was swelling far past his mouth's capacity to contain it, and with a roar that shook the cavern the building pressure shot like a canon in his throat. This, viscous transfluid pounded into him with the strength of a shotgun blast, the force of it setting off warnings in his diagnostics even as it was followed by a second, a third. He could already feel his belly swelling, filled to the brim with the aggressive overload, and his vents were hitching as more of the thick ooze shot out. He felt so much of it fill him it was coating the massive spike stuck in his mouth. 

The last shot was weaker, had less, but it was still enough for the overflow to push up and burst out of his nose, the force of the process finally pushing Swerve away from the shaking wrecker's hips. He landed on his aft, coughing and gagging, thick creamy transfluid oozing from his open mouth and nose. And through it all, his own spike was hard. Painfully so. Dazed, he was gasping, panting, both hands on the swollen mesh of his stomach, and all Swerve could think about was how fucking horny he was. 

He looked up, face a mess of transfluid and tears, and was just in time to see the grinning wrecker's foot come down. The heavy pede easily covered his crotch, most of his belly, most of his thighs. The little minicon whimpered and tried to push it off of him, but Impactor shook his head and just pressed down harder. His distended stomach sloshed with the big bot's transfluid, his spike was positively _crushed_ and the pain had his diagnostic systems whining at him… and still the little metallurgist could only moan, weakly pressing his hips upwards. The pressure was painful, but he needed it, he needed bad, and clearly Impactor was willing to comply. He shifted his weight back and forth, the heavy pede scraping at the pinned autobot's paint and making him sure he'd need to visit the medbay for a replacement spike. 

"Ready for your reward?"

"Ngh.. P-please.. I.. Fuck, hurts.. Wha?" 

Swerve got his answer, but it wasn't verbal. Instead, it was the powerful stream of waste fluid slamming him in the face like solid object, the acrid taste forcing it's way into his mouth through his surprised, garbled protests. The taste mingled with the transfluid still coating his glossa and throat, and the pressure of it pinning his head to the ground only added to the heat of his spark's hungry pulsing. Impactor pressed harder down on his abused spike, and Swerve cried out, gagging on the mouthful of waste fluid, his little frame cracking lightly under the weight, and shaking through his own overload. 

"That's it, dirty little slut, enjoy your reward." 

Swerve didn't hear if there was anything else. His discharge was so intense his optics fritzed out and his system went into recovery, the biggest overload of his life staining the wrecker's pede. His comms flickered, rescue teams pinging the pair to say they were almost there, but the little minicon was already passed out in embarrassed bliss, his entire frame warm with how hot his spark had pulsed.


End file.
